


12 Days of Christmas

by mercscilla



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: 12 Days of Christmas, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-20
Updated: 2014-12-20
Packaged: 2018-03-02 10:57:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2809808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mercscilla/pseuds/mercscilla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt fills for the 'The 12 Days of Christmas - Bellarke Style' on tumblr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	12 Days of Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> Bellamy has never been this nervous, no battle has left him feeling so edgy. Thing is, this isn't a battle, this is just the day of revealing yourself to your giftee. And his giftee is Clarke.

He sighs and glances down at the small package in his hands before looking up and across the bonfire at Clarke. There's a hint of a smile on her face that turns into laugh as Lincoln draws her into a hug and thanks her for her gift.

Bellamy can't see it from the distance but he doesn't have to, he knows exactly what Clarke has given the grounder - a travel-sized emergency medical kit consisting of a collection of small potions for treating burns, snake bites, fever, cough and of course several antidotes.

Clarke had all made them herself, had carefully selected each ingredient, had gone to Nyko when her own knowledge had failed her, and sometimes it had taken hours until she'd deemed a potion worthy. Then she'd tried to build a fitting wooden box on her own but after three failed attempts, she'd given up, had huffed and asked Raven to help her in that don't-you-dare-say-anything voice.

Bellamy smiles as he remembers the glare she'd given the parts of the box. He'd almost expected them to yield under the princess' stubbornness and magically put themselves together. She'd wanted it to be perfect and in Bellamy's eyes, her gift is.

Unlike his. He sighs again and silently curses Jasper, Monty and their idea of Secret Santa, and his luck to draw Clarke's name. Up until three days, he'd had no idea what to get her and his mind had slowly started to edge towards the state of panic. Everything he'd come up with as a possible gift had already been given to her by their friends and new allies at some point or another in the last few weeks. Glass vials? Nyko. Art supplies? Finn. Bag? Raven. Notebook? Octavia. Knife? Lexa.

But that morning three days ago, she'd been dragging him out before dawn to collect one of those glowing in the dark plants for Lincoln's gift, and he'd noticed her threadbare gloves that were definitely not appropriate for either the freezing temperature nor for gripping plants covered in thorns.

Back then it had seemed to be the ideal gift for her even though it'd been some time (years actually) since he'd done any kind of knitting and stitching but as soon as he'd started, it all had come back, and last night he'd put the finishing touches on Clarke's gift.

Now though, as he watches the appreciation grow in Lincoln's eyes with every new vial the man pulls from the box, Bellamy wonders how the hell his gift is ever going to measure up to Clarke's gift to Lincoln. Gloves are easy to come by these days but life-saving potions are not.

Finally, Lincoln puts the vials back into the box and Bellamy knows he can't put off the exchange any longer. Here goes nothing, he thinks as he stands up and walks towards Clarke, all the while ignoring the little voice in the back of his mind telling him that it's not a case of who is the better gifter that has his gut churning but rather his fear that Clarke might not like his gift that's sitting like a bucket full of stones in his stomach.

*~*

Clarke can't help but feel proud as Lincoln makes his way back to Nyko and Octavia, his new emergency kit already fastened to his belt, and she knows that all the hard work she's put into her gift has been worth it.

“Clarke.”

She turns to find Bellamy standing behind her and freezes, arrested in place by the intensity of his gaze, a hundred possible scenarios running through her mind that could be the reason for that expression. ”Bellamy? Did something hap—”

She breaks off as he steps closer and reaches out, his fingers wrapping around her wrist. “Merry Christmas,” he says softly before pressing something into her hand and she instinctively closes her fingers around it.

What he said doesn't register at first, it takes her mind a second to catch up, but then her eyes widen and dart to the small package in her hand before back to his again as realization dawns.

“You are...”

“I am your Secret Santa.” It comes out a little stilted, almost as though he's a little embarrassed to be saying that out loud, and she has to bite back a smile. “Are you going to stare at it all night or are you going to open it anytime soon, princess?”

Clarke rolls her eyes good-naturally as she carefully begins to unwrap her gift, well aware that acting like a jerk is nothing more than a defense mechanism of Bellamy. He doesn't want others to know that he's got another side, a softer and more vulnerable one that rarely comes out but is always there, just beneath the surface. She wants to say as much to Bellamy, tease him about it, but her mouth has gone dry because the wrapping finally falls away and reveals her gift.

It's a pair of hand-knitted fingerless gloves, the wool soft to the touch, softer than any of the other gloves she's ever had, and as she turns them around, she discovers an extra padding in the palm area to provide protection against any sharp objects she could come in contact with. Running her fingers over the gloves in wonder, she admires the handiwork, from the sheaths and opening of each finger to the cuffs, and wants to thank Bellamy for the gift when her thumb brushes across an embroidery on the cuffs.

Intrigued she examines them more closely and her breath catches in her throat as she finds a C, a G and a little crown stitched onto the cuffs. Everything falls into place in that moment and her heart skips a beat. Bellamy didn't asked someone to make them, he's knitted the gloves himself.

She knows he can sew, he's never made a secret out of it and more than once she's caught him mending torn clothing here and there, but she hadn't known that he's capable of such beautiful craftsmanship. Her eyes fly up to his and her mouth falls open but the words won't come, and Bellamy smirks slightly at her failed attempt to find her voice.

“The princess is speechless. That's a first.” To anyone else it would sound like the old Bellamy, the one who lived to annoy and bait her, but under his snark Clarke can sense a hint of uncertainty and nervousness, and warmth blooms in her chest. “I know, they're nothing compared to that fancy blade or those vials you have—” 

“Bellamy,” she interrupts his rambling. “They are perfect.”

“Really?”

“Yes,” she says firmly and slips off her old gloves to tuck them in her pocket. “I love them.”

Bellamy blinks at her and then - surprisingly - starts to blush. He ducks his head but Clarke still catches a glimpse of the small, pleased smile playing around the corner of his mouth as he watches her pulling on her new gloves.

On impulse, she rises up on her tiptoes, places her hands on his shoulders and presses a kiss to his cheek, letting her lips linger for a heartbeat before stepping back again. He looks at her then, half-surprised and half-amused, and she smiles softly. “Thank you, Bellamy.”

His smile deepens as he reaches for her hand, still resting on his shoulder, and squeezes her fingers gently. “You're welcome, Clarke.”

*~*

From the other side of the bonfire, Monty watches as Bellamy leans down and says something to Clarke which earns him a laugh from the girl before they turn and walk to one of the logs furthest from the fire, grabbing a cup of moonshine on the way.

They continue to talk, their conversation accompanied by soft laughter and quiet chuckles, and even though their bodies are barely visible in the dim firelight and shadows, Monty still sees their fingers brushing every time they pass the cup back and forth.

Mission 'Christmas Miracle' is a complete success.

Inconspicuously, he high-fives Jasper behind Miller's back and hides a smug grin behind his own cup of moonshine. Rigging the name drawing for the Secret Santa had been tricky but they'd made it work, and luckily Bellamy never had the chance to look at the other slips of paper. Otherwise he'd have found Clarke's name written on every single one of them.

They'd used the same method to let Clarke draw Lincoln's name, the only male who's no threat to Bellamy when it comes to Clarke's attention, and who seems to be in on their plan if the knowing looks the grounder's been giving him and Jasper since the name drawing are any indication. The man in question catches Monty's eyes and raises his cup in silent salute. Monty mirrors the gesture, and this time, doesn't hide his satisfied grin.

He's pretty sure Santa won't mind them playing match-maker in his name.


End file.
